I believe in the number of the house I lived in as a child! I believe in the color of the little house that protected me in my childhood, in the bridge I used to climb on to discover wonders that nobody understood, in the white hand that gave me a grace which I still carry with me in the place where I have wings. I believe in the flowers my mother took care of, in the courtyard where I used to play, in the eaves in which the rain strove sometimes to fit in.
In the outlandish shoes I used to wear, in the chalk on the hot pavement that changed colors like a Morgana Girl, in the aroma of the lime tree flowers at the corner of the street, in the people that strived to look alive, although they were sleeping deeply then death...even now I hear the noise of the neighboring window opening up when their owners couldn’t breath anymore, I see the ball that I forgot to play with, sniff the Christmas cakes before they get into the oven to bake, and I moved aside the cat that purred near my ears, from the clay cup full to its top with curd milk. I strongly believe in the candle, lit by the first love. I believe in the first brush I received and whom I spread with my dream on canvas, in a discreet way. I believe in the most beautiful yellow that I obtained out of a feverish mixture.
I believe in the sunset flame over the hill where my sleigh used to hurry on purpose to exceed the snowflakes. I believe in my center of universe, I believe in my support point, I believe in the surprise of the children I teach to look in the rainbow’s colors eyes.
I believe in the shop’s window on which I used to stick my cold nose, in the light beyond the window, in the gifts received by my tall fir on Christmas. In the amethyst of your love for me and I believe in the moment I rise here…somewhere, at the end of my street, at the end of my world, at the end of the rainbow, a green window stayed close.
Beyond this window was reality, and I didn’t dream so much to open it…
In the outlandish shoes I used to wear, in the chalk on the hot pavement that changed colors like a Morgana Girl, in the aroma of the lime tree flowers at the corner of the street, in the people that strived to look alive, although they were sleeping deeply then death...even now I hear the noise of the neighboring window opening up when their owners couldn’t breath anymore, I see the ball that I forgot to play with, sniff the Christmas cakes before they get into the oven to bake, and I moved aside the cat that purred near my ears, from the clay cup full to its top with curd milk. I strongly believe in the candle, lit by the first love. I believe in the first brush I received and whom I spread with my dream on canvas, in a discreet way. I believe in the most beautiful yellow that I obtained out of a feverish mixture.
I believe in the sunset flame over the hill where my sleigh used to hurry on purpose to exceed the snowflakes. I believe in my center of universe, I believe in my support point, I believe in the surprise of the children I teach to look in the rainbow’s colors eyes.
I believe in the shop’s window on which I used to stick my cold nose, in the light beyond the window, in the gifts received by my tall fir on Christmas. In the amethyst of your love for me and I believe in the moment I rise here…somewhere, at the end of my street, at the end of my world, at the end of the rainbow, a green window stayed close.
Beyond this window was reality, and I didn’t dream so much to open it…
Cred in numarul casei in care am locuit, copila fiind!
Cred in culoarea casutei ce ma proteja in copilarie, in podul in care urcam sa descopar minuni pe care nimeni nu le intelegea, in mana alba ce mi-a dat un har pe care-l port acolo unde am aripi.
Cred in florile pe care mama le ingrijea, in curtea casei in care ma jucam, in streasina prin care ploaia se straduia sa incapa uneori, in neobisnuitele incaltari pe care le purtam, in creta de pe caldarmul fierbinte ce-si schimba culorile ca Fata Morgana, in aroma teiului din coltul strazii, in lumea ce se straduia sa arate ca traieste, desi dormea un somn mai adanc decat moartea...
Si acum aud zgomotele ferestrelor vecine deschizandu-se atunci cand stapanii nu mai aveau aer, vad mingea cu care uitam sa ma joc, adulmec cozonacii inainte de a intra la copt si dau pisica ce toarce la urechea mea deoparte de langa cana mare de pamant plina ochi cu lapte prins. Cred cu tarie in candela aprinsa de iubirea dintai... Cred in prima pensula primita cu care mi-am intins visul pe panza discret. Cred in cel mai frumos galben pe care l-am obtinut dintr-un amestec febril, cred in vapaia apusului de soare de pe dealul pe care sania mea se grabea sa depaseasca fulgii de nea. Cred in centrul universului meu, cred in punctul meu de sprijin, cred in uimirea copiilor pe care ii invat sa priveasca in ochi culorile curcubeului...
Cred in vitrina pe care-mi lipeam nasul atins de frig, in lumina de dincolo de geam, in cadourile primite de bradul meu inalt de Craciun, in ametistul iubirii tale pentru mine si cred in clipa in care eu am rasarit aici...
Undeva, la capatul strazii mele, la capatul lumii mele, la capatul curcubeului o fereastra verde ramanea inchisa.
Dincolo de ea era realitatea, iar eu nu prea visam sa o deschid...
